The Gift Of The Muse.

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Under sparkling gemstone stars I walk

in the night, once more desiring

to be refreshed in mind and spirit

by the quiet pools of Xanadu!

The ancient poets, thus seeking,

would pray the gods in desperation

and petition for a Muse (a well kept

secret) for their much needed inspiration.

How, like them, I have sought thus far

the appearance of my celestial helpmate

who shall impart her divine talents

through shared heavenly experience!

When will my vigil for Erato end,

I ask; which dawn will bring answer

to my nightly impassioned plea:

“Where is she? Where is she?”

Might it be thus, a shimmering oasis

at the edge of lonely desert sands;

to walk quietly together, speaking softly,

thus to quench the thirsting in my soul?

Did I but imagine in her youthful eyes

that neophyte spirit seeking out the poet

who also seeks a reprieve from loneliness;

the emptiness of uninspired surroundings?

New life; experience await not the timid!

I seek not merely carnal pleasure;

rather this opportune meeting, perchance

to impart that blessed gift of inspiration!

Am I but the dreamer, still to seek, or,

will Erato appear; gently take my hand

so I may feel young life flowing into mine,

awakening my soul; quickening my spirit?

I have spoken with unabashed honesty, and

if thus give offense, shall speak of it no more!

But, if she would my Muse now become,

I shall write again of life’s joy and sorrow!

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What passion. What pathos.

Qyros noted the Shakespearean flow...

Sonnet CXVI: Let me not to marriage of true minds admit impediments

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


Indeed, my unmet friend, your verse compares most admirably!

in blessing, Bless


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